


Inconveniently Displaced

by OldTsuki



Series: Inconveniently [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bits of canon mixed with plot, F/M, Post-Season 2, Queen Betty and King Jug, Rescue Mission, ghoulies and their nihilism, southside serpents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldTsuki/pseuds/OldTsuki
Summary: Following the final episode of Season 2, Toni informs Jughead that the Serpents have left something important behind at the Whyte Wyrm. Accepting Jughead's proposal at lunch the day after their stay in the Five Seasons, Betty volunteers to go along with him on a rescue mission.Part 2 of my Southside Showcase series, "Inconveniently". This prompt was "The Whyte Wyrm".





	Inconveniently Displaced

**Author's Note:**

> so I went back to check the season finale a few times for consistency, and there’s only a bit of rehashing in the beginning of this before it goes on to be a new story. 
> 
> The one thing that stood out to me about the finale—the Five Seasons wouldn’t let teenagers rent a room, most semi-nice hotels have age policies and won’t rent to people under 21. At least, that’s been my understanding in the Midwest, where Riverdale is set.

It took weeks for Jughead to recover from the beating that Penny and the Ghoulies had given him, that Hiram Lodge had thought would kill him. Betty and his friends brought him things to do while he was at the hospital, books from home, treats from Pop’s, homework he’d missed while he was out of school, and even a book of crossword puzzles. After he was discharged, they’d moved their attentions to FP’s trailer. All the while, though, Jughead couldn’t shake the feeling that there were things no one was telling him.

When he discovered that FP hadn’t told him the truth about the Serpents and their war with the Ghoulies, the pieces began to click into place. Of course, he knew his dad was just trying to protect him. But Jughead knew that he’d been convalescing at home while his fellow Serpents were camped out in a bar, and the privilege of his ignorance rankled somewhere deep at his core. 

He knew that he needed to do something to help them.

Before he had his chance, Cheryl burst through the doors and told them what she’d learned from her mother. Jughead--and the others--were out of time. They rushed across town, stealing their way through the cover of night toward the one refuge he still had to offer them. It was the safe place he’d gone as a child, and in the past it had been a secret place that Jughead kept to himself. After everything that had happened while he was out--everything that he’d had a major role in bringing down on their heads--it wouldn’t be right to keep this place from them, too.

They made it to the Andrews house unscathed.

The bar, on the other hand, was not left untouched. After being abandoned by her denizens, she was rudely invaded. First, by the grown man who’d knowingly ordered a hit on an adolescent boy, just to silence his unrelenting voice of dissent. Later, by the Ghoulies that descended on the space, true to their name, tearing it utterly apart. They smashed bar stools, threw glasses, painted slurs across the walls, and generally transformed the space into a war zone. It had already looked rough outside, and now they attacked the bones of their enemy’s territory, making sure to leave nothing salvageable within her walls.

A few days later, after his girlfriend’s life had also gone to hell, Jughead drained the money out of his meager bank account and regarded his dad levelly. “You owe me,” he pointed out, crossing his arms. FP sighed. The weight of a hundred lies stretched between them.

“I do,” he admitted, picking up his phone to make the reservation.

The following day, Jughead was sitting at the far picnic table in the courtyard. He’d gotten to lunch before anyone else, choosing the table below the tree to give them a little shade. His body still ached from the beating he’d taken, but after the night he’d spent with Betty, his spirit felt like it was finally starting to recover. He thought about the question he’d asked her, his lips quirking into a smile. Jughead immediately tried to hide it by lifting his sandwich and taking a bite.

He was still chewing when Veronica and Betty made their way across the yard, their cafeteria trays sporting chicken burgers and french fries. They were smiling and talking about something, both offering him a cheerful greeting before they slid their trays onto the table and took their seats. For a brief instant, Jughead could have believed that it was any afternoon a year ago. Then his arm throbbed painfully beneath its bandage, weighed down by his jacket, and the feeling evaporated. 

“Move over, sweet cousin,” purred an unmistakable voice from behind him. Jughead didn’t turn, already envisioning the red leather jacket below Cheryl’s oversized sunglasses and meticulously arranged beach curls. As it flashed into the corner of his vision, he took another bite of his sandwich. Betty rolled her eyes but slid over, letting Cheryl take a corner of the table.

Toni slid into the space next to Jughead, looking like she was about to shoulder him in greeting but pulling herself up short at the last second. He was immensely grateful, as she’d nearly collided with the angry wound on his upper arm. Was it possible for skin to hurt so much for so long?

“Jug, we’ve got a problem,” Toni announced, setting her brown bag on the table. There wasn’t urgency in her tone, though. Jughead glanced over curiously. She raised her eyebrow at him.

“What?” he asked when she didn’t extrapolate.

She slid a similar sandwich from her bag. “When we abandoned the Wyrm, we left a few things there. Like Relish.”

Jughead frowned and replied, “I’ll pick some up at the grocery store?”

Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Dr. Watson, sometimes your lighthearted ignorance and food oriented comic relief serves you so poorly.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and snapped, “Wait, why am I Watson? Who’s my Sherlock?”

Throwing her arm cheerfully around Betty’s shoulders, Cheryl answered Jughead with, “My dear cousin, of course.”

Betty laughed, her eyes meeting his. “Well, you _do_ write about our investigations, Jug.”

He took another bite of his sandwich, somewhat viciously, to show them what he thought of their teasing. The girls laughed together, and even Veronica had a little giggle at his expense.

Toni looked over at him and snagged the sleeve of his jacket with one hand, drawing up his hand into his line of vision. “Relish gave you this,” she said, nodding toward the faint scar from the snake bite between his thumb and index finger. Jughead’s memory took him back to the grueling initiation rites he’d gone through when he joined the Serpents. The significance of what Toni said made sense all at once.

“Relish is the snake,” he said. Then, quickly, “Who named the Serpent mascots? I mean, Hot Dog and Relish? Really?”

“Your dad,” Toni said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jughead could see that Betty and Veronica were still laughing at him. He glared in their direction.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?” Veronica asked out of the side of her mouth, making Betty nearly choke on a French Fry.

Cheryl leaned forward, ignoring her tray of lunch. “Seriously, though, there’s a snake in danger of starvation in the Wyrm, and I’m sure Veronica’s dad isn’t too concerned about keeping him alive.”

They looked over at the petite brunette, who raised her hands in surrender. “I have no idea what Daddy found there. After I sold it to him, he cut me completely out of his business dealings—as I requested.”

Jughead sighed at Toni’s concerned expression. “We’ll rescue Relish, of course,” he promised.

Betty nodded and said, “We can sneak in tomorrow morning, before school. There shouldn’t be anyone there at that time.”

Everyone at the table turned to look at her. Toni said, “You’re going to help, Betty?”

She flashed a devious grin and said, “Why not? Jughead asked me to be the Serpent Queen, after all.”

Thank the powers above that he had a mouth full of sandwich when she said it. Cheryl and Toni looked at him incredulously, while Veronica nodded in approval. “It’s about time,” she said.

Betty regarded him seriously, ignoring the others. “I’ll pick the lock on the back door. You can sneak in, get Relish, and we’ll leave. It will be clean and simple.”

He swallowed. Jughead just hoped she was right.

————————

Betty wore a dark sweater and bootcut jeans, with her hair drawn up in her iconic ponytail. She smiled as she took the helmet from Jughead’s hands, fitting it onto her head. Once she’d thrown her leg over the back of the bike and slipped her arms around his abdomen, he kicked into gear and took off.

No one would look twice at a motorcycle cutting across the Southside, even at 7AM on a school day. He took a slightly scenic route, going down side streets rather than the main road. They parked a block from the Wyrm.

When they reached the back door, they still hadn’t seen any other people out and about for the day. That was good—it meant no one had seen them, either.

Betty picked the lock deftly. A few precise movements, a click, and then they were inside. Jughead blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

The bar was practically unrecognizable. Smashed furniture and glass was everywhere. Pool tables were overturned. Even the mirrored backsplash behind the bar was shattered. Since Hiram was planning to raze this part of town and rebuild, he didn’t seem to care if his hired gang unleashed their revenge upon their displaced rivals’ former base. Standing in the hallway, he could only see a portion of the wreckage. Still, Jughead could almost superimpose the bar he knew over the sight that met his eyes, placing his friends and the people who relied on him at the usual haunts around the room. As his eyes traced the past over the space, they paused where a certain table would normally hold the tank of a certain snake.

Relish usually wasn’t kept in the bar, he knew. It was too noisy and crowded to be comfortable, and no one was interested in torturing their collective pet. Jughead was vaguely aware of some offices upstairs, but he’d never had much reason to personally explore the second level of the bar. He was assuming that would be where Relish was kept during his off hours.

Signaling to Betty, he carefully made his way toward the door that led to the second floor. It creaked open easily when he turned the handle, and Jughead was momentarily grateful that there wasn’t a second lock to pick.

“I’ll stay here and shout if there’s trouble,” Betty said quietly, looking up and down the hall. 

Jughead didn’t like that idea at all. He shook his head. “You come with me,” he hissed, also trying to keep his voice down. “We’re not Mystery Inc, Betty. When people split up, bad things happen.”

She looked like she was going to argue, but when she saw his expression she gave in. Quietly shadowing his steps, Betty followed him up the stairs.

Jughead noticed that the destruction hadn’t reached this level of the bar. It seemed like the Ghoulies had just focused their rage in the common meeting area. From the look of things, some sort of meeting had been held here recently. Several chairs were arranged in a semi-circle, though no other clues remained to indicate their purpose. Jughead and Betty exchanged a significant look, both realizing that something had happened here.

He tried the first door they came to, and it swung open easily again. Inside, there was a small cot and a patchy sleeping bag. Jughead recognized it immediately. He’d used that sleeping bag himself many times as a kid, particularly whenever he’d been invited to go camping with the Andrews. So this must be where his dad crashed when he didn’t return to the trailer at night.

He contemplated grabbing the bag--it was sort of his, after all--but shut the door instead. It wouldn’t be hard to replace a sleeping bag, and he didn’t want to leave any clues about the identity of the people who had trespassed on Hiram’s property, if he could help it. 

Betty tried the next door, but it was locked. She took a few minutes longer to adjust the inner workings of the handle, and ultimately it gave way under her hands as well. “Thanks, mom,” she said with a grin, holding up the bobby pin. A quick glance into the second door revealed a small office, with a heavy old desk occupying the center of the room. Papers were scattered, and a half-emptied glass sat on the surface. It looked like whoever had been here last left in a hurry.

Jughead heard Relish before he found the tank. Hissing flared up from behind the door. Closing it slightly, he saw a small bookshelf pushed into the corner. On top of the shelf was the aquarium. Inside was one very irritated snake.

Carefully, so as not to bump away the screen covering the top of the tank, Jughead lifted the entire thing. He nodded his head toward the door, signaling Betty to go back downstairs. They moved slowly, each listening for any hints that they might not be alone. In light of his recent near-death experience, Jughead wasn’t too anxious to put himself in harm’s way just yet--especially with his arm throbbing painfully every time he took a step. The tank wasn’t heavy, but his muscles were taut with its weight. That was creating just enough friction on his bandage to make him wish he was still hooked up to the morphine.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, he realized that he’d broken into a bit of a sweat. Carefully, still trying to be absolutely quiet, he took a few steps to the edge of the bar and gently set the aquarium down. The relief he felt as his semi-skinned muscles were able to relax was palpable. 

Betty bit her lower lip as she looked at the tank, her brows coming together in thought. She was quiet for a moment. Then she whispered, “We can’t take the tank on the bike.”

Of course, Jughead hadn’t thought through the plan that far. His dad’s car would have been spotted immediately on the Southside, so it wasn’t like they’d had another option. He thought through their possible modes of snake transportation, trying to come up with a way that wouldn’t put him (or Betty) in imminent danger of any more snake bites.

While he thought, she looked around the room. Her eyes came to rest on the golden pole next to the bar, and Jughead was fairly certain that he knew what history her mind was painting over that space. When Betty had first tried to join the Serpents, by performing the extremely misogynistic Serpent Dance, Jughead hadn’t exactly been enthusiastic about her decision. In fact, he’d broken up with her shortly afterwards.

Seeing those memories on her face now, he felt a twist of anxiety in his stomach. It had taken almost a year for Jughead to admit to himself that he needed Betty by his side more than he needed to shelter her from his life. Honestly, while he’d been busy trying to separate Betty from the Serpents, she’d faced one of the most grisly demons Riverdale had ever incubated. Jughead felt a profound sense of relief knowing that she’d chosen to join him in his world, sharing whatever responsibilities gang royalty would hold for them both.

“Let me see if I can find a smaller container, just for the ride,” he whispered, moving behind the bar and opening storage cupboards in search of anything that wasn’t smashed.

Most of the shelves were empty, their contents smashed on the other side of the bar. Jughead slid open door after door, becoming more and more frustrated as he kept coming up with nothing. Even the little refrigerator for the cream-based mixers was empty, and growing a small culture of mold since it had been unplugged and forgotten. 

Jughead heard a distinctive _crunch_ as he closed the door, which could only be the sound of a shoe on broken glass. Without hesitation, he slid his knife out of his pocket and crawled to the end of the bar for cover. Glancing around, he wondered where Betty had gone, and hoped she was hiding somewhere safe.

As he peered around the edge of the bar, it took a moment for Jughead to reign in his adrenaline and calm his nerves. The crunch had undoubtedly been Betty.

She walked over to the little stage, carefully climbing her way up. Slowly, she reached out and touched the pole, a thoughtful expression clouding her face. There she froze, evidently processing some internal monologue that Jughead couldn’t even begin to fathom. Generally he was in sync with all things Betty Cooper, but just as the last time she’d been there, he couldn’t imagine what would have driven her to take the stage.

Betty glanced over and met his eyes. Jughead realized that he was still foolishly clutching his switchblade. He flipped it closed with an audible _snap_ and slid it back into his pocket as he straightened, feeling the back of his neck flush with embarrassment at his quick reaction to one little noise.

“What are you doing?” he asked, forced to raise his voice slightly above a whisper so that she would hear him. 

Betty bit her lip and looked thoughtfully at the pole again. “I was thinking,” she said. Glancing over and meeting his eyes again, she held his gaze as she slid her hand slowly down the pole.

The emotions of that uncomfortable evening rushed back through his body, twisting his stomach into an unrecognizable mess of trepidation. Jughead crossed his arms unconsciously. “I see that, Betty. About what?”

For one insane moment, he thought that she would say something about repeating her initiation rights. They’d admitted Cheryl without any show of personal debasement, so as far as Jughead was concerned, the ritual was ready to fade into a cringey memory of the past. If any of the Serpents so much as thought about asking his girlfriend to perform a public strip tease again, they were going to find out exactly what sort of right hook he could deliver. 

She shook her head and frowned, as if _she_ could read _his_ thoughts all of a sudden. “Let’s make sure that we come up with a new way for girls to join the Serpents, Jug,” she said, and her words were like a shot of tranquilizer directly into the knot of his stomach. “I’m sure Toni has some good ideas.”

He let his mouth turn up in a smile, nodding at her. “I second that, Queen Betty,” he said, teasing to relieve even more of the tension. She reacted instantly, smiling to hide her quiet laughter at the ridiculous title.

Betty returned quietly to the bar, eying the aquarium thoughtfully. “Maybe I can just hold this on the back of the bike, if we go slowly,” she said. “Or we can call Archie and ask him to meet us at the bridge.”

Jughead thought that sounded like a fine idea. It would be difficult to maintain their balance on the motorcycle with Betty only using one arm to hold onto him, but as long as he didn’t go too fast or make any sudden turns they would be able to do it. Without any other choices, they would just have to make it work. He slid off his leather jacket and wrapped it around the aquarium so that the sleeves aligned to make a sort of snake-habitat sling, while Betty nodded in approval.

As they snuck out the back door and walked toward the bike, both were relieved to see that they were still virtually alone on the Southside. Betty looked up at the sky, which was beginning to show the orange and pink tints of the sunrise. Jughead couldn’t help noticing how the morning light reflected on her hair, casting fiery highlights amongst the yellow strands. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, at once grateful to have her in his life, and relieved that their rescue mission had gone without a hitch so far.

Betty glanced over and saw his look. With a teasing expression, she said, “It looks like King Juggie has successfully rescued Relish the snake.”

He winced at the nickname, shaking his head. “Betty,” he implored, “do _not_ call me that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sure, Hiram could have sold all the stuff inside the bar for profit. But I get the feeling that, like the Ghoulies, he'd rather watch their world burn. Especially since Jughead lived.
> 
> Also, Google says snakes can live for several weeks without eating, and in the wild they generally only eat once every six months, depending on the breed. Not being a snake owner personally--being more like a person who runs screaming whenever I notice anything vaguely snake-shaped on the ground in my vicinity--I'll just have to trust Google.


End file.
